by Lily Cahill
Everyone’s there. Everyone except Jess. I frown, scanning the crowd. Where is our cheer captain? Coach must have the same question, because she comes to stand beside me.
“Did you see Jess at the Kappa house before you left?”
A crease pulls my eyebrows together. Jess and I have been keeping a big distance from each other, honestly. We used to be able to be friendly, when we needed to, but everything between us has turned cold and sour. Now that I think of it, I haven’t seen her at the Kappa house all day.
“Now isn’t the ideal time, but I don’t know where Jess is. You want to give that basket toss a try?”
“Tonight?” I squeak.
Coach looks at me. “Jess has always done the stunt, and as my chosen team captain and a senior, it’s her right. But you’re my best flier, Nara. Show me what you can do.”
I look at Coach Higgins, at her white-blond hair styled into waves and the lines just starting to show around her eyes. She’s never complimented me like this before. I’ve always felt like a background cheerleader, one of the reliable fliers to flank the showcase stunts. But I can do this. I deserve it.
“Yeah, Coach. Yeah, I will give it a try.”
I turn around to find Chad eyeing me. He lifts his eyebrows in question, then breaks into a grin when I give him a sly nod.
“First I see you strut by with that piece of Brit eye candy, now you’re stealing the best stunt from Jess? Good on you, girl.”
I nudge Chad with a hip but keep my mouth shut. If I really do get this stunt, I’m going to be gracious about it, just like my parents taught me. Though inside, I’m absolutely crowing.
Chad and another base, Josh, squat with their arms held out between them, hands interlocked. I grab onto their shoulders, with my spotter at my back and facing the third base—an awesome tumbler named Maggie—lending her biceps. She grips Chad’s and Josh’s forearms underneath their arms to help the stunt explode upward.
If I do this at the pep rally, it’ll involve a back handspring into a basic stunt where I’ll hold a sign that declares in big, block letters “stampede.” The basket toss comes at the end. I’ll have to throw the sign down, do a quick cradle and release from the stunt, then jump back immediately into the basket toss.
Right now, though, we just need to show Coach what I can do. “I’m going to do a layout into a toe touch,” I tell Chad and Josh.
In front of me, Maggie’s eyes go wide. “Nice,” she says with a grin.
I hope I’ll stick it. I’ll have to be precise—and quick—with the toe touch.
My spotter’s hands grip my waist, and he counts off quietly. “One, two.”
His grip tightens. He’ll throw too, so four people will be working to propel me high into the air.
“Down,” he whispers, and I bend my knees, ready to jump. “Up.”
Energy zings through me. I brace my hands against the bases’ shoulders and jump onto their interlocked hands. As a unit, we all dip low, then they throw me straight up into the air. Muscles take over. I cross my arms tight over my chest and throw myself back into a layout, my body rigid and curved back like a bridge. Just as I feel the rush of descent hit my stomach, I flip back around and throw my legs out into the wide, deep vee of a toe touch. Just as quickly, I snap my body back, knees together, stomach muscles tightening so I’m sitting upright, ready to be caught.
My arms hook around Chad’s and Josh’s shoulders, their arms stop my fall, and I jump out of their cradle to the ground. Everything in me soars higher than I just flew in the basket toss. We did it. I did it.
In front of me, Coach Higgins smiles wide, then nods.
“Nice work, Nara. Consider this stunt yours.”
I bounce on the balls of my feet and grin so wide I’m sure my face will crack with happiness.
In front of us, the floats jolt forward as the parade starts. The drumline riffs and the marching band blares. The parade starts just as Jess comes running up. But I don’t care if she’s angry or hurt or humiliated. Right now … right now all I care about is that I have an amazing man who loves me and a coach who believes in me and an entire town who’re going to watch me shine.
Chapter Fifteen
Ben
THIS FEELING IS ELECTRIC.
SURROUNDED by my teammates on first-string and Coach Prescott, we walk the one-mile parade with a phalanx of police cruisers close behind, their lights flashing.
Over the roar of the crowd and brass and beats of the band, West comes up beside me, smiling and waving as he does.
“Thanks for letting me borrow the suit, man,” he says.
I glance at him. Reggie had mentioned he didn’t have a real suit—though I barely stopped myself from informing Reggie he doesn’t have a real one either—so it seemed the least I could do.
“No problem.”
West walks next to me, Reggie and Riley just in front of us. I grin out into the hundreds of faces shouting for us, for me, and wave. And suddenly, football all makes sense. This spirit, this camaraderie. The only thing like it back home is European football—it kills me to call it “soccer.” So much of my time in America had been colored with anger, with regret. But right now … I’m right where I want to be, with the people I want to be with.
On either side of the route, thousands of fans cheer and scream for us. Bubbling under the roar of the crowd, the sharp blare of the marching band and the chorus of the cheerleaders turns this experience into a cacophony of noise.
On both sides of the parade route, the fans have started up a cheer, stomping as they chant.
“Can’t stop!” the people on our left shout.
“The stampede!” the people on the right shout back.
The chant volleys back and forth over our heads, until it feels like the entire street is rumbling with a thousand stomping feet. The parade route ends at the start of the Diamond pedestrian mall. The floats disappear down two side streets, but the band, the cheerleaders, and us football players gather in a semi-circle, surrounded on three sides by temporary grandstands teeming with people.
Coach Prescott takes a mic and addresses the crowd, getting everyone excited for the game in three days’ time against the University of Oklahoma. He leads a renewed chant of “Can’t stop the stampede,” and for the first time, I find myself joining in, shouting the chant at the top of my lungs. I try to spot Nara at the side with her squad. She’d be proud of me right now.
But then it’s me who’s proud. The cheer squad takes up a new cheer, one I don’t know but the fans obviously do. I watch as she’s pressed up into a stunt at the center of the formation, holding a big sign overhead. She throws the sign to the ground, then as four other stunts are pressed up on either side of her, she disappears. I strain to find her.
Then my mouth falls open. She explodes into the sky, thrown twenty feet into the air, it seems like. Overhead, she arches her body into a flip, a graceful line that seems to flip over in slow motion, it’s so smooth. Then she kicks her feet out and lands, and the crowd goes wild.
I do too, whistling for her loudly and shouting. I want to shout it, claim her. She’s mine. That woman, we belong to each other. Even if I have nothing else—no title, no inheritance—I have Nara. And that’s better than anything else. I have a love that isn’t about my background or my money or social standing. I have found love, real love.
In my pocket, my phone buzzes. So does West’s apparently. And Reggie’s and Riley’s. All around me, my teammates are glancing at pockets and pulling out phones. Then their eyes find me. I can feel it on every side, eyes boring into me. My heart thuds against my ribs, and the pit of my stomach howls. What is going on? Why does it feel like I’m suddenly under a spotlight?
Through the crowd, I spot Jess thread her way toward us, her gaze locked on me. Triumph sparkles in her emerald green eyes. I drop my chin and yank my phone out of my pocket.
It’s a text message—a group message that has apparently been sent to every single person on my team. It’s a
picture of my Aston … mangled, the windscreen shattered.
Shelby’s body slumped over behind the wheel.
Underneath the horrible photo is a link to tabloid coverage from the crash, to articles calling me a murderer, a jilted, angry boyfriend. A rich boy who got away will killing someone because of my money and ties. Sourness rises up my throat. Jesus, I’m going to be sick.
And Jess is right there before me, an awful smirk on her face. Nara stumbles through the crowd to my side, her eyes cutting between me and Jess.
“What did you do, Jess?” she asks, horror in her voice.
“Me?” Jess blinks slowly and looks at me. “Ben, maybe you should ask your girlfriend about this. Maybe she can’t be trusted if she so easily gossips about ….” Jess holds up her phone, displaying another awful photo from the crash. “Is that why you ran to America, Ben? Because you’re a murderer?”
“I didn’t,” I manage. I can barely breathe, barely speak. Around me, my teammates shift uncomfortably. Coach Prescott strides up to us, his phone out too. “You didn’t …?” My eyes skitter to Nara, begging her silently not to be the reason for this.
She shakes her head, tears staining her cheeks. She swipes under her eyes and smears silver face paint across her cheek.
“She did, Ben. You saw it yourself, her reward. The only reason she even went on a date with you was to get that basket toss. You were a bet, Ben. Nara played you. How else would I know about your little murdering past? Because you were nothing but a means to an end for our girl Nara.”
It’s a punch to the gut, something that leaves me sucking for air.
“Nara,” I whisper, my voice issuing like a hundred sharp knives.
I don’t want to believe this. Nara wouldn’t betray the trust I had in her; she wouldn’t treat me the same way my friends back home did. Selling me out for a bit of money or praise or … or a stunt.
“Is it true?” I hiss.
All around us, the band still plays, the crowd still roars. But all I can really hear is the sound of blood rushing in my ears. Jesus, can’t everyone just quiet down. I want to scream against the night and tell people to bloody shut up.
“Nara,” I snap, when she doesn’t speak. “Was I a fucking bet?”
Tears are spilling over her cheeks now, and it only makes me angrier. That’s all the proof I need, right there. I turn away from her just as she rushes forward and grabs at my arm.
“Ben, I never—”
I shake her off and shove my way through the crowd. All these eyes on me, knowing my past, knowing about Shelby.
“Ben,” someone calls.
I ignore them and push through the football players.
“Ben!”
“What?” I shout it, spinning around with cold fury in my face.
It’s Coach Prescott. He rubs a hand over his short, dark hair, and his shoulders droop. I suck in a shuddering breath.
“What is it?” I manage, calmer now.
Coach lifts his phone. “Son, we just put a major scandal behind us,” he says, his words heavy with despair. “We’re finally playing like a team, and this happens.”
“I was in a car crash,” I try to explain. “It was an accident. I … I loved my girlfriend.”
Loved. I did. And now my horrible heart belongs to Nara. That heart twists with pain. I love a woman who betrayed me, who sold my secret for her own gain. I scrub my hands through my hair in agony.
Coach Prescott shakes his head and walks closer. “Ben, even a whiff of scandal is too much. We can’t have it, not now. Not when we finally have a real chance of proving the Mustangs are more than a tarnished reputation.”
“What are you saying, Coach?”
He opens his mouth, won’t look me in the eyes. And I suddenly don’t want to hear another word.
Chapter Sixteen
Nara
GRIEF IS A STONE IN my stomach, a dull throb behind my eyes. Is this what I get for taking power away from Jess? Lord, it’s so cruel. To earn one thing I’ve wanted while in the same fell stroke losing one thing I never realized I needed.
I’ve been sitting in a small, wood-paneled nook of the history library for hours. I should be studying. I should be getting ready for tonight’s mandatory SigEp mixer. Yet I’ve not had the energy to do much else than curl up in this deep, leather chair and read. It’s the only way to quiet my mind.
Ben won’t answer my texts. And I don’t blame him. I should have told him the truth from the beginning. Yes, it was all because of a stupid bet that I approached him in that LA bar, but it quickly—so quickly—went beyond that. I should have told him the truth when I learned about the car accident and aftermath, but I didn’t. I didn’t want to cause discomfort. But now if I think about it, the discomfort I worried about was my own.
If I had to choose between Ben and the stunt, I’d choose him. Over and over, I’d choose him.
My phone buzzes again. It’s Lou. Again. The annual homecoming mixer with the SigEp fraternity is one of the Kappa house’s many required events. But I can’t do it. Not tonight.
Yet I shove my notebook into my tote and return my history texts to the filing cart. I can’t face a party tonight. What I need is home.
It’s just a fifteen minute drive to my parents’ Spanish bungalow on the outskirts of Granite, but it feels worlds away from the bustle of campus. My parents’ cars are in the driveway, and the porch light illuminates Dad’s vegetable garden out front. He works from home now, to be more available to Yaya, and can be found outside gardening as often as he is behind his laptop. I park my car and walk up the driveway, every step closer to home dragging more emotions to the surface. Right now, I just want Mom to give me a hug and tell me what to do.
Except there’s another voice that crashes against me when I open the front door. I freeze. Yaya. What is she doing here? It’s a Thursday night, Mom and Dad never check her out of the home during the week.
I can’t face Yaya. I’m about to back out the door and escape when Dad pokes his head around the kitchen door.
“Nara! I thought I heard you.”
I fiddle with my keys and look at the floor. “I can’t actually stay long, I—”
Mom joins him. “Nonsense, Kinara. Dad just put together a big salad from his garden. And your sister’s here!”
My feet are dragging, but there’s nowhere to go but forward. Around the corner, Yaya slumps at the kitchen table, slowly turning a mug of coffee in her hands. The ceramic mug makes a terrible scraping noise against the table, but she doesn’t seem to notice.
Her eyes—hollow, flat—find mine.
“The prodigal returns.” I’m not sure if she’s talking about herself or me.
“Say hello to your sister, Aliyah,” Mom says gently.
Yaya shoots a glare at Mom, but she ignores it. There are dark smudges under Yaya’s eyes, and her skin is ashy. She used to be so beautiful. It smarts to think that. Her beauty is the least of it.
“Yaya was telling us she’s thinking of going back to community college, maybe work on an associate’s in dental tech.”
My sister has “gone back” to school three times now and has never lasted a semester. Though the last time she did get a warning for banned substances from the group home.
“Mom, don’t go telling my business to Nara.”
Dad makes a noise in the back of his throat. “She’s excited for you, Yaya.”
Yaya stands up abruptly, and I can’t help but notice how stained and worn her clothing is. I know Mom goes shopping for her regularly. I have to wonder where her new clothes disappear to.
“Dad, can you take me back home?”
Mom’s face collapses for a moment. “This is your home, baby girl.”
Yaya just glares.
Mom and Dad share a look that speaks of pain, of worry. Dad sets down the salad tongs and wipes his hands on a dish towel. “Let me get my keys,” he says, a note of surrender in his voice. My dad is a fierce reporter, an accomplished editor, but he’s
blind when it comes to his daughter.
Yaya snatches a bottle of soda from the fridge then stalks toward the door. “Nara?”
I pause.
“Nara!” she shouts from the darkened hallway.
With a sigh and a look from my mom, I trudge down the hallway. It’s cast in shadows, just a slight glow from the porchlight filtering in through the front door.
“Listen, I am doing this associate’s, but I need some cash to get books. I don’t want to ask Mom and Dad.” Yaya won’t meet my eyes when she asks, like deep inside she’s ashamed of what she’s doing.
“I don’t have any—”
Yaya huffs out a laugh. “Of course you don’t. Can’t help out your own sister. I just need twenty bucks.”
“Yaya,” I start. I’ve gotten course lists for enough semesters now to know books never cost just twenty dollars.
My sister turns away from me. How long have we been doing this, living our lives by Yaya’s needs? It needs to stop. Every time she swears she’s getting better, Mom and Dad get so hopeful. How many more times can their dreams for their oldest daughter be dashed?
I grab her arm before she can stomp out the door. “Yaya, this needs to stop.”
“What?”
“Don’t do this to Mom and Dad. Don’t pretend you’re getting better when you’re not.”
“What would you know about it?” she snarls.
“I know they won’t stop talking about this for weeks. Mom’ll spend hours looking up everything she can on your latest ‘passion’ and Dad will start researching job opportunities. And every time you screw up again, they’ll be crushed all over. For once, think of someone other than yourself.”
Yaya yanks her arm out of my grip and slams the front door behind her. I’ve never called her out, never. Beyond the front door, I hear her scream for our father, and he bustles past me. He stops to kiss me on the forehead, then is gone.
Mom is sitting at the kitchen table, staring at the place where my sister sat. “It’s nice to have both my babies home at the same time,” she says, still staring at the empty space.
But was it ever really occupied by Yaya? It feels like my sister disappeared from our lives four years ago.
